Psychanatural
by Jesse Marshall
Summary: One girl sets out to put a change to the way supernatural creatures are treated. It's time to stop hunting and start helping. No matter how dangerous and terrifying she's on the case. Discover how surprisingly human the non-human can be. *Just the Prologue set up.*


**Prologue:**

"How does that make you feel?"

The office room was small and cluttered, but it held a certain homey kind of charm. Framed photographs covered most of the walls, hiding away the pink and crème pinstriped wallpaper. The pictures mainly seemed comprised of 'graduated' clients who stood proudly shaking hands with the good doctor and smiling big goofy grins at no one; but there were a few that seemed a little more personal. There was one in particular which framed an older gentleman with a kind face who was smiling brightly in a rocking chair. Perched next to the man was a beautiful young girl with a rounded face and hay colored hair leaning in to give the older man a swift peck on the cheek.

The room was carpeted in rich, thick beige, and off to one side of the door stood a small shoe cubby with a sign that exclaimed 'Make yourself at home'. The furniture matched the setting perfectly, and they were so stuffed full of fluff that it was hard for anyone to pull themselves up and out of them.

Sitting sprawled out comfortably across the three-seat couch was a young man who appeared to be in his late twenties. His hair was a handsome shade of brown sugar and honey, pulled back into a short cut ponytail at the nape of his neck. His legs were crossed tightly, his fingers tapping nervously away at his thigh. His eyes never left the ceiling, but after a moment he took a deep breath to respond.

"I don't know," he replied lamely with a shrug of his shoulders. "I guess it makes me feel like the whole world is against me. I used to be a part of it all, but I can't be any more, and that's not really my fault."

"Well," the woman behind the desk began, "That's why I'm here. Over the next few months I want to try and get you adjusted to living a normal life again."

The man scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes up to the top of his head. The rooms other occupant leaned forward in her seat, resting her arms across her desk. It was sad to see such hopelessness in people like Matthew, she thought. It's true that such a drastic change to a person was almost always met with those kinds of feelings, but with time and patience anyone was able to pull through.

"You don't think you can succeed," the woman observed.

"That's an understatement," he interjected.

She ignored him and continued on, "But with a little work and understanding of your situation you can. It's time you find trust in yourself. Stop obsessing with failure, and start living life day to day. It's all we can do."

"Understanding? Trust?" The man let out a bitter laugh. "I can barely hear what you're saying over the pumping of your blood. I've been sitting here for the past hour and ten minutes wondering what the best way would be to slit your throat and drain you dry, and I can't help it."

Concern and worry etched into the woman's face, and for a minute Matthew thought she would turn him away and ask him to leave, but instead she simply smiled in a sad sort of way. "You _can_ help it though. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Do you realize how hard it is for me to leave you that way?"

"All you can do is try," she replied.

Matthew nodded his understanding, running a jittery hand through his hair. He uncrossed his legs and sat up, staring the doctor in the eyes. "Do you ever think it will get easier?"

The woman smiled knowingly at the man across from her, "Hasn't it already?"

Matthew let out a relieved chuckle and nodded, his lips pulling up and into an easy smile. It was the first one he had shown the doctor since they had met two weeks ago.

"Well, I think that's all the time we have for this session. Same time next week?"

He nodded, standing up and taking her hand for a firm shake. His eyes lingered on her wrist where there was a small tattoo of a five pointed star in a fiery circle.

"What's that for," he asked.

Her eyes followed his down to her wrist. It was an anti-possession tattoo that she had gotten during her early years as a hunter, back when she used to kill the supernatural instead of helping them. Those were dark and unforgettable times that would often plague her sleep with nightmares. She shook her head trying to clear away the thoughts of silver and salt.

"Oh that," she let go of his hand to wave hers around in dismissal. "It's just something I picked up from my last job."

Matthew caught her eye with an expression that said, 'I thought this was a place of honesty', but all he said was, "Well, thank you Doctor Fischer, for seeing me again."

She nodded at that, "Please, call me Sarah."

The young man turned to leave, but Sarah stopped him with a quick exclamation, "Oh! I almost forgot this."

She quickly turned and ducked down to open a small mini-fridge behind her cherry wood desk. The small light from inside cast shadows around her feet. Matthew counted each little pulse of the vein in her ankles before she straightened up and turned back around. She set a small red and white cooler on the desk in front of her.

"It's AB positive," she said with a smirk. "Your favorite?"

Matthew knocked the lid back on the cooler and had torn into one of the blood packs before he even knew what he was doing. His eyes, which were normally a cool sea-foam green, had gone horribly blood shot and wide. His fangs had extended out of their protective pockets, making him look like a human piranha. He sucked the last little bit out from its plastic container with a grimace, tossing the empty pouch back into the cooler. His face was plastered over with a disgusted look, and Dr. Sarah Fischer waited patiently for the self-loathing comments to start up.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," he began.

"It's perfectly natural," she replied.

"It's disgusting is what it is."

"Not anymore than me eating a steak."

"I don't want to do this anymore," he said with a broken voice. "I don't want this life. I don't want to live like this. I'm so tired."

Bright red and angry tears had begun to form in the man's eyes, and Sarah had to thank the gods that she had remembered to set a box of tissues on her desk. She picked these up now, and carried them around to the other side where Matthew was standing. She pulled an individual sheet out and handed it to the man. He took it with a small nod and dabbed at the corners of his eyes methodically. He was avoiding eye contact with her, but she reached up and planted a hand on his cheek, shocking him into looking.

"You're doing fine Matthew," she began, "You were forcefully turned into a vampire a little less than a month ago. You can't expect to come to terms with that in just two weeks of therapy. I want you to know that you're doing the right thing by being here and coming to see me. It's not easy, and there are other ways you could have accepted this problem, but this is the best option you have right now."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Don't thank me, Matthew. Thank yourself."

After Matthew left, she had a few moments to herself until her next client showed up. She checked her schedule and saw that it was going to be a three-thirty with Ms. Auberry, a shape-shifter who was having a hard time dealing with the slimy after effects of changing shape. Sarah heaved a large sigh and settled comfortably into the couch that her two o'-clock had just vacated.

'Such is the life of a supernatural psychiatrist,' she thought, picking up the newspaper she had brought in with her today. It was the first time she had gotten a moment to look at it. The front page main-article was a piece about the spread of the Ebola virus and how the CDC was handling the new epidemic, but there was also a local side article printed. The title read, 'Fourth Heart Found by Mailman'. She grimaced at the idea of opening her mailbox to find a human heart inside.

She quickly pushed herself up off the couch and went back around to her desk. The office phone she had was severely outdated, and she had to dial nine to get an outside line, but her fingers were sure as she dialed the number she only used in drastic emergencies.

The phone rang four times before someone answered with a gruff and unwelcoming, "Hello?"

Sarah didn't recognize the voice on the other end at all and almost hung up, but she needed to know, "Is Bobby Singer there?"

"Sorry lady," said the voice, "But Bobby's dead."

Her heart dropped into her stomach going somewhere roughly around a hundred miles an hour. Sweat broke out on her palms, and she had to swallow hard to clear her throat.

"W-when?" She asked.

"About three years ago now. It's a little late to send flowers though," the voice had become sarcastic and almost chiding. "So why don't you go ahead and just tell me what you want. My guess is that Bobby didn't really matter much to you since you haven't called him in three years. I can only assume that you need some sort of help getting rid of a ghost?"

Sarah's mouth had gone completely dry and her hands were trembling, "Don't you dare speak to me like that. I know how to play the guessing game too, and my guess is that this is Dean Winchester. I realize that you're probably still sore over Bobby's death, but maybe you should try getting over this lost father figure complex you have going on, and start treating people like Bobby would've wanted you to treat them."

There was a long pause in which nothing on either end was said, but then Dean came back over the phone, "Who is this?"

"My name is Sarah Elaine Fischer, and I'm Bobby's niece."

**Author's Note:** Hey there, and thanks for reading. This is just a short sample of a fic that I am going to start writing that is based in the Supernatural universe. Let me know what you think by leaving a quick rate or review or both! Can't wait to hear what you guys think. The next parts shall be coming soon. Lots of love.

-Jesse


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